I finally planted asparagus today. It’s a presumptuous undertaking as you can’t cut or harvest the crop for two years. I have thought about doing this for many years, long enough that I could be replanting a worn-out ten-year-old bed tonight. Instead, I’m just getting going because you can’t do it all, fulfill every dream in your head, and asparagus has been on my backburner for…a while.

I remember telling someone, ten, no twenty years ago that I was considering becoming an asparagus farmer. She was impressed, and saying it aloud made it more real. I was trying it on, at least.

But one thing and another. I went back to college got a degree, then another. Not in asparagus farming. Now I’m retiring from that career, the one I went to college for. And first thing on my list, before the bad art is off the wall of my former office, I’m mucking in the mud spreading out the plants, “like mop-heads,” as the guy at the nursery told me.

Before the asparagus, I was clearing out my office and I left. Just left in the middle of the day. It’s not like they can fire me now. I left and went to the nursery and bought forty asparagus plants. The plants were male and female. I figured I’d take some of both because I know what happens when those two get together. If you’re in doubt…that I know…read my last article here called, Motherhood.

I’m trying to build an asparagus bridge to lead me from one solid place in my life to another, different place. One where planting has to be as important in scope as saving the planet has been for the past decade. At least in my own pointy head.